Once, it was the home to the witches of Dathomir, otherwise known as the Nightsisters. Tucked away in from the rest of the galaxy in an isolated cluster, the Nightsisters were able to draw energy from the planet itself, and pursued a type of ritualistic magic. They ruled over the population of Zabarak—Nightbrothers—and used them as a warrior caste to serve their purposes.

Then, the Clone Wars. The Nightsisters were pulled into the conflict due to the machinations of Mother Talzin and her rival Darth Sidious. This ultimately lead to the eradication of the Dathomarians and their settlements. The desolation was claimed by the Confederacy of Independent Systems after the last Nightsiser fell.

Now, the planet known as Dathomir is a haunted skeleton of its former greatness. A perpetual crimson glow coats the planet. The bleak world has become an amalgamation of ruined forest, decrepit swamplands, and withered mountains worn to the sands of time.

In the desolate swamps, faint echoes haunt the graves of the long-dead witches, infusing the green fog that spreads above the damp ground. Dreadful whispers rumoured to be lingering incantations defend the world from intruders. Tall tales and rumors of zombies and ritual sacrifice alluding to grisly flashes of imagery.

The trees, large and misshapen, promise misery to those who touch their tortured bark and open themselves to the memories of the place. Eerie as the voices over the wind, the water beneath the fog appears red and bubbling, as if the land itself were pockmarked in cauldrons of blood to keep the incantations alive.

Creatures unaffected by the purge of the Nightsisters still remain. Snakes, reptiles and insects of varying lethality wander the wasteland. Reports have even said that rancor still roam freely.

This is Dathomir.

He made no effort to hide himself. He scarcely did, outside his political machinations. The ridge overlooking the swamps was still damp from the moisture of the bog and the wet air clung to his usually pristine robes, staining them with the very essence of Dathomir. He had lost his cape hours ago, rustling through the dead trees, and the black and gold garment itself was torn, giving way to occasional flashes of blue skin. So, despite not making any attempt to disguise himself, the environment seemed to do it for him.

Just as his quarry would have had done as well. Alaris knew very little about the young Jedi he was hunting. This wasn’t his first task as one of Pravus’s Inquisitors and he knew full well that it would scarcely be the last. They all seemed to bleed together. The twi’lek’s eyes scoured over the vastness of the swamp. He knew that even with his near-perfect vision that anyone hiding in that mess would be well hidden for any standard hunting party. Alaris, however, was hardly standard by any stretch of the imagination. He always did enjoy playing with his food, and the Seeker was apt in such a realm.

His eyes found nothing, as he expected, so he closed them. He drank in the dark side. It was thick and jammy on Dathomir: a site of death, slavery, and rape. On other planets he would have been all but overwhelmed with lifesigns, but with such desolation, he found the fear of his prey easily. He also found something else.

His true quarry was approaching. He had foreseen this and had been anticipating such for years.

“Why even attempt to hide from me, Kaeth?” Alaris muttered under his breath.

He stayed put, eyes darting across the swamp within which hid the Jedi, until finally he felt the life force fading from the poor child he hunted. Alaris imagined that the young human had been bit by something rather lethal and instead of going in to find him, turned to face the direction from which he knew Braecen Kaeth approached. He could see the Corellian’s silhouette now and both Arconans had lost any pretense of subterfuge.

Alaris crossed his arms and smiled as he let his former mentor approach. Neither man was particularly imposing physically, but the dark side dripped off both of them with deep intensity. When Braecen was close enough that the two men could talk without needing to yell, Alaris dropped his arms to his side and grasped his lightsaber tightly in his first two fingers. His smile never faded.

“You took your time getting -”

He was cut off by violet strands of hate that burst from Braecen’s right hand. It enveloped the twi’lek and it was all Alaris could do to keep himself from screaming out in agony. The shock kept him upright for the few seconds that the dark side coursed through the Seeker’s body. Once it faded, Alaris fell to his knees. He sank an inch into the damp earth, the bog soiling his robes further.

He gasped several times and took a moment to catch his breath, letting the pain subside. He ignited his viridian blade and stepped quickly back to his feet. He angled himself away from the Quaestor who had, himself, lit his own two silver blades.

Neither man moved.

“That wasn’t fair!” Alaris exclaimed after several seconds. “I was ready to parley, and you just jumped to the killing part.”

Braecen’s trademark frown stiffened. “I’m not a fan of nostalgia.”

The twi’lek nodded. “Too true. It was a dark time for all of us.”

“Odan Urr are our allies now, Jinn.”

“Your allies, Braecen. Arcona’s allies. And that should make you sick. Are you ill, Kaeth? Are you nauseous?”

“We all must make -”

“Don’t give me that kark, Master,” Alaris spat the word. “You may pretend to have changed, but you have not.”

“For our alliance, I cannot allow you to kill him.” Braecen sneered slightly.

“He’s probably already dead in this swamp.” He motioned to the blackness that spanned beneath them. “No matter. He wasn’t my target, anyway.”

Braecen’s sneer changed to subtle realization. “Of course. How could you possibly kill me surrounded by the Shadesworn? I thought those ‘clues’ were a little sloppy.”

“I was a little surprised you actually followed instead of sending your pet, Wuntila. You’re usually more careful than that.”

The Juggernaut took a step forward, and Alaris took one back. The Augur was no fool. He had trained under Braecen and knew full well that his former mentor was far more skilled than he. He would wait. Alaris was patient. After another protracted silence, one that was beginning to give Alaris a twinge of anxiety, Braecen finally engaged.

The Corellian leapt, in a very literal sense, forward and came down precisely where Alaris had been standing before. The twi’lek, deflected away a short set of strikes coming at him in syncopated rhythms. He kept light on his toes, deftly hopping from foot to foot moving backward. Braecen added spins and flourishes to each strike, ensuring that every attacking arch came from a new angle as often as possible.

“You mistake me for a fool, Jinn. I could have sent Wuntila, but I wanted to finally kill you myself.” He sent a stab that would have pierced Alaris’s heart had the twi’lek been less nimble.

The Seeker had to spin quickly to get out of the path of the following strike from Braecen’s left saber. “Vengeance does not become you, Kaeth. You do not wear it well.”

Alaris felt a little too much give under his left foot and immediately compensated by pirouetting quickly on his right. On the return across, he threw as much weight as possible into a slash across Braecen’s chest. Normally, the Corellian would have had no difficulty throwing his weight back, but as he planted his right foot, he felt the give of the ridge. The red waters of the swamp had penetrated this ridge deeply and the ground broke free under the force in which Braecen had planted. He began to slip. The Elder turned his body to try to regain a touch of balance, but felt himself tipping over.

The Augur helped his former mentor along by finishing with a second pirouette and kicking Braecen square between the shoulder blades with the top of his foot. Braecen surrendered to the fall. He began to slide down the side of the mud ridge and kept his weight backward to try to control as much of the skid as possible. His foot hit the remnant of a dead root about twenty feet down and he fell forward. Braecen found himself empty handed as he braced for the fall and he finished the last few feet rolling laterally.

The Correllian labored slightly to get himself back to his feet and looked around him. Rotting trees and pools of blood red water that no sane person would dare drink from pockmarked the ground. The air was completely still and smelled of death. It stuck to the Quaestor’s skin like saliva, as if the very planet were ready to consume him.

He spun around and looked back up the ridge to find any sign of Alaris. The twi’lek, whose blue skin should have stuck out like a rancor in a bantha farm, was nowhere to be seen. Braecen could have called for assistance, but he wanted to bring Alaris back to Eldar. Whether he preferred the Augur alive or not remained to be seen.

He found his lightsabers fairly quickly and retrieved them by hand. Both burst to life in slight syncopation and he began his slow entry into the wooded mess. As he scoured for Alaris, he couldn’t help but wonder if he were now predator or prey.

Braecen had been able to scramble far enough away from the embankment to escape the fury of the avalanche of mud and dirt, but he still found himself in a dangerous predicament. His path leading through a forest of contorted, misshapen trees that pitched shadows of varying crimson darkness. A fog mixed of ivory and emerald covered the ground, obscuring the lay of the land from the Corellian’s eyes and making him doubt the sureness of each step.

The Elder entered the labyrinth of trees slipping from shadow to shadow. He sought to establish a defensible position against his foe. Across the arena, Alaris slipped into the maze with a striking similarity to that of the Sith. As they approached the midpoint of the grove, each was met by a shadow so akin to his own that he had to stop and take measure of it before he engaged.

“There you are,” Braecen hissed.

“Here I am,” Alaris replied evenly, “and you will rue the day you trained me.”

“I already do, my Prodigy,” the Adept spat the last word. In a blur, they came together, Alaris’ cruel saber matching the speed of Braecen’s whirring blades. The spectacle of grace and skill of the combatants within the grove of trees holding the world still for a moment. The battle between the Augur and the Adept was unlike anything Dathomir had seen since the Clone Wars, two master swordsmen weaving and parrying in absolute harmony.

Each anticipated the other’s movements exactly, countering the other’s counter, back and forth in a battle that seemed as though it could know no victor. One appeared the reflection of the other, and the only thing that kept the world aware of the reality of the struggle was the constant clash of their blades as viridian and ivory cried out against one another. They moved in and out of the shadows, seeking some small advantage in a fight of equals. Then they slipped into the darkness of one of the forest’s alcoves.

Knowing that sooner or later one of Alaris’ blows could be fatal, Braecen risked a quick look around, searching for something he could use as an advantage. The landscape blurred into an indistinguishable blood-red haze broken only by the twisted arms of the forest; he could see nothing in there. Alaris made him pay for the survey in blood, landing the pommel of his blade across his cheek that split the flesh and smashed the bone. Braecen countered with a driving knee to the thigh, then a downward slash that Alaris barely turned in time to save his hand.

The deflection was ill-timed enough to send the Twi’lek staggering. He whirled instantly, bringing his blade around at shoulder height. By then Braecen had slipped into the shadows and was lunging forward, his shoulders back but his boot heel driving in under Alaris’s lightsaber. Once again, Alaris anticipated him. He spun around, leaning away to protect his midsection and bringing his leg up to counter-kick. Braecen completed the maneuver anyway, whipping one of his blades around in a down guard to keep his opponent’s blade at bay. The Twi’lek’s kick landed first, driving into Braecen’s stomach with a deep sharp ache. The Sith retaliated by carrying through with his stomp, catching Alaris on the hip and sending him falling to the ground.

“Cheeky bastard,” the Quaestor of Galeres exclaimed, “you went for the one in a hundred counter.”

“You taught me to never play it safe, Old Man,” the Augur retorted.

The pair hesitated for a moment, staring at one another for the length of a breath. Braecen was proud of his once stalwart student. Alaris had proven himself as a Knight and been handpicked to serve at his side – a Consul’s Aide – before taking the mantle of Proconsul and ruling at his side. And when the Elder had stumbled, overplaying his hand in the politics of the Iron Throne, Alaris had been forced to continue alone on his journey. The moment for nostalgia, though, had passed.

The trees nearby shuddered from the weight of an incredible blow. The pair, just settled into their routine, looked back in amazement and horror just as the second blow fell and the heavy wood splintered and broke away. The rancor crashed into their makeshift arena. The monster could have squished both of them right there, but its indecision gave both combatants precious few seconds to react.

Alaris had never seen a live Rancor, quite on purpose, but had read about them and seen holos. Nothing that he had read or seen did justice for how massive and frightening the beast in front of him was. Lesser men would have frozen in fear and been devoured in seconds. Braecen shot off to one side of the monstrosity while Alaris, who had pulled himself off his backside, willed himself to its right side. The twi’lek swore under his breath. This rancor complicated things. He had long since stepped out from under Kaeth’s shadow, but he hated having to rely on him now.

The rancor’s beady eyes darted between the two Dark Jedi, trying to choose which one offended her more. She reached out to grab Alaris, but he was too nimble. He kept slipping between her fingers before she could close them. Eventually a slash from the small creature’s lightsaber across her fingers deterred her from pursuing him. She bellowed in pain as one of her fingers fell to the ground with a wet thump.

Her left hand instinctively pulled in to protect her damaged appendage. Her scream shook the trees at the edge of the clearing and sent small shivers down the backs of the Arconans. Braecen shook it off and darted in to continue the assault on the creature. He quickly slashed the tendons at the back of her ankles, and she buckled forward. Her arms shot out to protect her fall, but the pain in her right hand caused her to collapse.

She began to drag herself toward the edge of the clearing and barely felt the two feet landing on the top of her head. She felt a brief twinge of pain shoot through her skull, then darkness took her quickly and all of her pain evaporated into the warm embrace of death.

Alaris pulled his lightsaber out of the rancor’s skull leaving a wisp of smoke, signalling that the wound had cauterized. He turned and looked down at Braecen, who was still fixated on the beast.

The Corellian smiled and looked up at his prodigy. The twi’lek was coated in mud and sweat. His robes were further cut from rancor’s sharp claws and blood was starting to show in two spots through the mess of everything caked to his skin. Braecen had trained Alaris well. He was an excellent judge of character and knew that the twi’lek would become a force to be reckoned with.

“Well done, my -”

This time it was Braecen who felt the wrath of the dark side. His muscles spasmed and tightened while Alaris’s hatred scoured through the air and scorched the Quaestor. It didn’t last long, but it had the effect Alaris had hoped. Braecen tasted the iron in his blood and realized he had bit his tongue.

He had no time to react as Alaris was already on him. The twi’lek had used his positional advantage to surprise Braecen with a quick chop from through the air. Braecen was relieved to discover that he was still alive and, with what looked like pure instinct, lifted the saber in his right hand to sloppily block the Twi’lek’s strike away. He saw the perfect opportunity to end the match and swung his left hand forward only to come to the quick realization that Alaris’s first strike wasn’t intended to kill Braecen.

Braecen dropped the bottom half of his now amputated lightsaber hilt and took a few steps back. The two men stood mere paces apart. Alaris’s cruel grin twisted across his face, revealing his pointed teeth. Braecen understood that he had lost. He could press the attack once more, but in this wooded area with obstacles, Alaris was at his most dangerous, and with only one lightsaber, the Corellian’s advantage had evaporated. His goal had to change from defeating Alaris to leaving alive: a possibility that became less and less apparent with each passing second.

Alaris’s left hand was no longer empty. He had revealed a curved violet blade and held it firmly in his first two fingers, as he did his lightsaber. The twi’lek angled himself away from Braecen again and let his arms hang loosely beside him. He spun the viridian blade in his right hand once, for good measure, and waited.

The Elder finally made his move. He stepped forward once, forcing Alaris to mirror and step backward, then put all of his weight into that foot and threw as much energy into it as possible. He sprung upward and pirouetted himself through the air, creating a whirlwind with his body. The single ivory blade spun quickly, but Alaris was scarcely one to be intimidated by acrobatics.

The twi’lek leapt sideways, a little higher than he should have been able to, and with a gymnast’s aerial landed out of harm’s way. He didn’t stay landed for long, leaping onto his left foot and spinning into a roundhouse kick which landed firmly between Braecen’s shoulder blades. The Corellian stumbled forward slightly but stayed on his feet. That didn’t last long as Alaris continued his momentum into a pirouette and drove his kukri into the back of his old mentor’s right thigh.

Now, Braecen finally yelled. He dropped his saber and collapsed onto all fours, the handle of Alaris’s blade still protruding from the meat in his leg. The twi’lek grabbed the blade and twisted sharply. Braecen’s scream intensified as Alaris yanked the blade out, spilling blood and throwing shredded sinew into the bog. Braecen had no respite as the same blade planted itself firmly into his left calf and then removed almost as quickly. Braecen tried to jerk upright onto his knees, but his right leg was too weak and he ended up collapsed on his side.

He looked up at the menacing smile of Alaris Jinn. “You know,” Alaris’s condescension was dripping, “there are some pretty nasty creatures down here. Venomous, hungry little creatures.”

The twi’lek sheathed his now soiled kukri and extended his hand toward the copper and black cylinder that lay unclaimed on the damp earth. It leapt into Alaris’s hand. He didn’t bother igniting it. He had seen plenty of it over the duration of his time in the Brotherhood.

“It would be an awful shame if the Quaestor of Galares were to disappear indefinitely.” Alaris stopped, feigning consideration. “Wuntila will make for a wonderful replacement, don’t you think? I think he’ll make a fine Quaestor.”

The twi’lek focused his eyes into Braecen’s and they lightened into a vile amber. “You will stand up now.”

Braecen fought the impulse to obey and stayed planted on the ground. Alaris sneered and stamped hard down on Braecen’s exposed calf wound. Braecen gave a muffled yell and his focus was completely shifted to his leg.

“You will stand up now!” Alaris yelled, the tendrils of the dark side beginning to pierce through Braecen’s facade.

The Corellian laboured and screamed in pain trying to pull himself upright, all the while his ears were bombarded with the demands from his former Proconsul to stand. His arms worked, so he eventually gave up on standing in the open and dragged himself over the leg of the rancor, using it to hoist himself upright.

After years of planning, Alaris had finally broken into Braecen’s rigid mind and he didn’t intend to leave him just yet. “Listen carefully, Braecen. Listen to the mate of this rancor you slayed.” Alaris listened to the silence, but he could see Braecen’s face contorting. “I bested you, Braecen, and now I’m going to leave you to die in pieces.”

Braecen stared at Alaris and his eyes widened. The twi’lek’s features shifted. Braecen saw Alaris's skin greying. His bottom teeth extended into tusks, with foam frothing behind it. The Corellian raised one of his hands to block the view, and he lost his footing, collapsing back into the mud. “No,” the Corellian begged, without even the will to scream.

The Augur shook his head. “You had so much potential, Kaeth. So much life in you.” He tisked. “It’s such a shame to leave you like this, but I have a list of Undesirables to slaughter, and Pravus cannot be kept waiting.”

The twi’lek sighed and clipped his newly acquired lightsaber on his belt. He stepped away from the scene and retrieved his commlink. “Meet me at the rendezvous.” He trudged his way back into the abyss of the swamp, viridian lightsaber guiding the way, just in case he met any more less than friendly monstrosities.

It loosed a guttural roar. The terrible sound reverberated in the chest of the Corellian as his mind labored to work the puzzle sprung upon him. Before him, within the oval alcove in the dark grove of misshapen trees, the rancor threatened both combatants. For now, he tought, I will have to make peace with my treacherous student.

The pair met the monster head on. The Elder unleashed his violet fury in a single, crashing strike that harnessed all of his effort. The monster, distracted by its pursuit of the Twi’lek, not even raising a pretense of defense. The blow knocked it back, but it seemed not to notice, and started again towards its prey. The pair looked at each other in disbelief and drove in on it again, their trio of blades whirring.

Alaris remembered his part in the battle. Without further delay, he unleashed his own blue-white lightning into the bull. As much as he would have liked to see the battle between the beast and the Elder played out to its end, his duty told him to dispatch the monster so he could return his focus on his former mentor.

The Augur ducked between the monsters outreached arms and mashing teeth while Braecen slashed at its flanks. Their advantage was short lived. A backhand connected as the beast reacted, its force hurling Braecen backward into the air. He rolled to his feet near the opposite side of the arena, his robes in tangles and barely concealing his blood soaked chest, and his entire body tingling in the aftermath of the attack. He pushed the pain away as he blocked his synapses from relaying the pain with the soothing touch of the Force.

Across the battlefield, he was paralyzed as he watched the young male rancor slam his fellow Arconan straight down to the fog covered floor. Alaris lay there for a long moment. He wasn’t too hurt – the Force aiding his reaction speed – as he cushioned himself from the worst of the blow.

A piercing howl loosed from the Corellian’s lips. His body, and mind, ripped at the gateway between himself and the Dark Side of the Force. Power – both terrible and awesome – flooded through his body and stoked the silent flames of the Juggernaut’s fury. He had become a furnace of malice, his twisted power turned inward to be unleashed in an outward display of cyclonic, overwhelming swordplay.

Braecen’s knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on both ebony and bronze hilts in hand. A student of Ataru before Jar’Kai, he made no pretenses about his second blade being defensive - both pillars of white flame fanned outward offensively.

The Quaestor stalked his prey, each step deliberate and methodical as it struck the ground, and he came together with his new foe. Alaris darted from his prone position and sank his blade deep into the back of the rancor’s ankle. Reflexively, the rancor shot a glance at the rear attacker, but it recovered quickly and shot its eyes back to the Sith. Just in time to see a blade entering its chest.

The bull lurched away. The blade had not found its heart, but it knew that the wound would soon prove fatal if untended. Blood poured freely down the monster’s chest, and it labored visibly as it tried to breath. Braecen alternated his attacks with Alaris, striking and ducking away from the lumbering counter while his partner rushed in on the monster’s other side. They knew, and the rancor did, too, that this fight would soon be over.

The beast could no longer sustain a defensive posture. It, like both Shadesworn, were beginning to tire. As the beast’s height began to sag toward the forest floor, Braecen launched a salvo of attacks once, twice, and then a third time. The Elder nearly collapsed in exhaustion after the third attack, but the beast lay crumpled on the ground before him. He leaned wearily on the lifeless husk as the Augur approached.

“I suppose you think I should thank you,” Alaris spat.

The Corellian opened his mouth to reply, but it turned into yawn. He shook his head back and forth to clear the waves of exhaustion in the wake of such an expenditure. “Do whatever the frack you want,” he bitterly responded, finally. “I cannot be an errand boy to four parties anyway. Maybe death will be easier.”

One of the Twi’lek’s lekku twitched. Braecen’s student was intrigued by the sudden revelation of his Master. Alaris prided himself on the manipulation of people and events to his will. It could be worth foregoing the death of the Elder today if he could be turned into a valuable informant of Atyiru’s plans.

He applied honey and a touch of the Force to his words, “Tell me more, Master. Explain your indentured servitude to four parties. I was only aware of the Grand Master’s will and those whom did not share it.”

Braecen guffawed. “Oh, certainly,” he began, “there is the Grand Master’s will. And I happily serve the Iron Throne – whomever sits upon it. But the Grand Master need not worry about Arcona defying him. It is a Clan already divided.”

Alaris nodded, encouraging his Master to continue speaking. “We are not all aligned to the Consul’s will?” He had sensed division in the ranks, but he had not known it bordered on civil war within the factions of the Shadesworn.

“Aye,” the Elder grumbled. “Atyiru defends those whom cannot defend themselves. Her champions provide aide to Odan-Urr and the Undesirable refugees. Her Scion, Uji, misinterprets her will and actively strikes back against the Grand Master and the Inquisition. Lastly, the Arconae sit silently in the wing – advocating for neither side…”

“…meaning they have their own agenda,” Alaris finished. His mind was sharp and filled in the blanks with lightning precision. He chewed over the words carefully as he digested them in all of their meanings. His mentor had no reason for subterfuge as he had already played his hand and stated his opposition to Atyiru and her support of the Odanites.

“If what you say is true, Braecen,” the Augur summarized, “and that you ‘serve the Iron Throne’, than I have no quarrel with you on this day. And find myself, once again, happy to call you my ally.” He raised his hand to his heart and declared his loyalty to the Dark Lord of the Sith, “For Pravus!”

“Long live the King,” Braecen replied with his own fist raised to his heart.